


Orange Colored Sky

by darby_vo



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Action & Romance, Adventure, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Drug Use, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Intimacy, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5732170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darby_vo/pseuds/darby_vo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How am I gonna convince you to keep travelin' with me, if you're still sober enough to see this ugly mug?” </p><p>“Oh, get the fuck outta here with that,” she laughed, "You know it's your personality I have a problem with."</p><p>Nora adjusted to this new primitive Wasteland with the help of her new friend John Hancock - realizing that some things, after all this time, never change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Personality

  
“The centuries were not kind,” Nora slurred, the Gwinnett bottle hanging between two fingers as she pressed her elbows on top of the bar. Her cheeks were rosy and she smiled as she spoke. It had been a while since she had seen the inside of the Shamrock Taphouse. There was a bartender back then and a significant less amount of holes in the ceiling. “I came here on a date once. A while ago. A...oh wow, a couple hundred years ago...” Her green eyes surveyed the bar, a mix of emotions registering on her sun-kissed features. At first, it was usually just disbelief. After five beers how ever, she had headed straight for nostalgia. Hancock's favorite.

“Is that so? You dog...” The ghoul began, his beer from his scarred lips to speak in a lazy tone. His brow raised in interest, smiling himself as he turned to look at the woman beside him. The soft blue light from her pip-boy illuminated them both in the dark bar, humming the same dated songs that it always did on these nights. Hancock enjoyed the moments they could decompress together. It had been three months that they had been traveling together and as far as he was concerned, these kinds of nights were too few and far between each other. He rested his empty drink on the bar, pushing it out of reach with the other tapped bottles they had killed that night. The glasses rattled together before he leaned towards her to continue, “And how'd that turn out, if ya don't mind measkin'?”

“Oh, swell,” she mused, her pink lips curling upwards at each end. It was a joke. The date had gone horrible from what she remembered. Nora had just graduated college at the time and the man was horribly persistent even after their classes were over. “Just a keeper. He kept...” she paused, fiddling with her fingers to begin snapping, “-- doing this shit to get the bartender's attention. And just spoke over me the whole time. Ordered me a glass of white wine because it's what paired well with the salad he thought I should have.”

Hancock laughed. “So you killed him?” 

“No,” her voice was low, her head tilting to the side as the features on her face contorted into something discernible. She turned to look at him, studying the smile on his gaunt features for a moment or two before speaking again, “Kellog did.”

Hancock nodded, giving a gruff noise from his throat in acknowledgement. It was a delicate subject – one that he knew was both important and relevant to Nora with every step she took. Up until a year ago (in her time), her husband had been a part of her life...and he had been murdered. He expected her to talk about him. It was how people coped. He just didn't expect the feeling it caused in the pit of his stomach when she did. His hands slid off of the bar, disappearing into his pocket to retrieve a tin of Mentats. In the moment, he was the only one that had stopped smiling.

Nora took a sip and and continued to grin. The bar might have been destroyed, but the concept of a “friday night” wasn't. They had had a long week trying to get The Slog running as an outpost. A lot of killing, a lot of looting, and a lot of stress. She closed her eyes in comfort while silence fell between them. These past few months with Hancock had presented her with a lifestyle that she had never known. Too many drinks had transpired in the moment for her to contemplate why, but she had never been more satisfied in her life.

A few minutes passed before either of them spoke. Hancock's dark eyes found Nora once more. Even in dim lighting, he could spot the freckles that had developed on her cheeks since they started traveling. The wasteland was slowly crafting her into something new. Shifting on his barstool, he leaned towards her and plucked the beer from her hands. “C'mon sister, you're slackin.” The beer was nearly empty, yet her eyes opened to glare at him like it was still of value. He finished the last of it with a long pull, then threw it by the rest. “How am I gonna convince you to keep travelin' with me, if you're still sober enough to see this ugly mug?”

“Oh, get the fuck outta here with that,” Nora's laugh echoed through out the empty bar. She swatted at Hancock's hat, knocking it down over his eyes before she rose from her seat. In all honesty, she had spent quite a bit of time thinking about that 'mug' of his and how it must have felt. How it smirked at her sarcastic remarks and how contagious it was when it laughed. She walked passed him to round the other side of the bar, retrieving her bag from the empty sink to grab more drinks. Producing two beers, she offered them to Hancock as he adjusted his hat and narrowed his eyes at her. She grinned childishly, “You know it's your _personality_ I have a problem with.”

“Listen here, Sunshine,” he muttered, a smirk forming on his lips as he snatched bottles from her. He placed them on the bar and grabbed a lighter from his red coat to break them open as he spoke, “You knew _-crack-_ damn well _-crack-_ what you were gettin' with me the day you walked into Goodneighbor.”

Hancock slid an open beer towards Nora before grabbing the other. Picking it up, she shook her head then locked eyes with the ghoul. The two of them had come far since that first day, but it always stayed with her. In that moment, she was a nobody; in that moment, he was a just a killer. Such a thought felt foreign to her as she watched the smile develop on his scarred features. She smiled too. They clinked their bottles together and drank.

He was wrong. She had no idea what she was getting into when she met him.

 


	2. Butcher Pete

  
It was always easier to put a knife in something, than it was to take it out. Hancock tugged at the handle and grunted. They had spent the morning doing a sweep at the Mercer Safehouse and had just cleared the double digits in dead bodies. This dead scavenger however, wasn't giving it up. “C'mon brother...” he mumbled at the body, twisting the handle and giving it another try. Thick, dark blood swelled from the wound to saturate the raider's clothing. “Let it go, huh? It's over.” He slid the body to the asphalt, tightening his grasp on the handle while he placed a foot on it's chest. “You lost...” Bending his knees with exaggeration, Hancock stabilized himself, then looked to Nora. She was busy inspecting the perimeter, her hands choking the clutch of her 10mm.

“Hey,” he called with a smile, “Hey what was the name of that cat you were telling me about last night at the Combat Zone? The one with the table.”

Nora paused and cocked her head. _That cat..._ What cat? She raised a hand to wipe the sweat from her brow, her eyes clearing the horizon before they fell on him with curiosity. Last night had become a bit of a blur. It couldn't have been past eight when they had met Deacon and Cait up for drinks at the Combat Zone. By midnight, it was nothing but an exchange of tall tales and war stores. When it hit the smaller hours of the morning, it had widdled down to just Hancock and herself – swapping soft laughter over his deep hits of Jet and demands for a story. She walked over to him.

“Wait,” Nora paused, “You mean...Arthur?” She began to smile. 

“Yeah, yeah that's the one,” he began, steading his grip on the knife again. “ _King_ Arthur. Check it out.” With that, Hancock ripped the knife out of the raiders chest – blood spattering every where as he raised it above his head, “Excalibur – right?” 

Disbelief and laughter erupted from her. “No,” she began, “I mean yes, but Hancock, you just can't...” There was blood on everything including himself and he was grinning like a child. Nora had just assumed he was placating her maternal instincts by asking for bedtime stories. She didn't think they'd resonate. “And this is excessive...” Her eyes followed him as he stepped off the raider and wiped the blade on the cuff of his boot. “I don't remember there being a body count this high. And it's supposed to be a stone.”

“So let's assume I'm stoned.” He winked as he approached her, sliding the 'sword' into it's holster within his coat. He watched as her green eyes darted about his appearance, the corners of her mouth pinned in place to hide her smile. Hancock loved that damn smile. 

“I thought we were talking fiction,” she muttered, tracking each speck of blood upon the man's body. A slash of crimson laid from his cheek to his chin – another spot by his neck and a few more on the breast of his red coat. It pooled in the tracks of his skin even as he lifted a hand to wipe it away. Nora bit the inside of her lip and offered him the gun. There was something about the dark shine of his eyes, the blood and the adrenaline of the fight that caused her eyes to linger on him a little too long. “So, your highness, what's your first order of business?”

Hancock stared back before responding, pocketing the pistol she held towards him with a coy smile. There was something different in her voice as she spoke. It wasn't new, but it was enough to make his chest swell as he eyed her. “Well, reinstating  _prima nocta_ sound's pretty fun, but I ain't that kinda ghoul.”

Nora eyed him, the grin on her lips slipping into something that displayed a genuine interest, “What kind of ghoul are you then?” With out thought, she reached her hand to his face, touching the crimson blemish to wipe it off. It hadn't dawned on her that she had never felt him until that moment. He felt soft beneath her finger tips, yet stiff and worn like soaked leather. He was still made of man. Her thumb slid across the line of his jaw and she bit her lip once more. She could have sworn he smiled as she minded each slick imperfection it offered. There was a low, nervous laugh before he pulled away.

“The kind that always runs from the good things in life...”

_Shit._ He reached a hand behind his neck and forced out a smile. She was kind enough not to scream when he woke her up in the morning, but it was asking too much for her to ignore the way his fucked face felt (even if she was the one that initiated it).  _Shit, fuck._ She was too kind and he needed a solid line. A part of him damn near purred when she touched him. His hand had fallen from the back of his neck and into his pocket, rummaging for a cigarette or a tin or an inhaler of some kind to split the seconds into something easier to understand. This wasn't what he had signed on for when he had asked to join her.

The nod she responded with went unnoticed as she turned away from Hancock and started towards the safe house. Nora knew he'd find his anchor some day. She just hoped they were worthy of him.

 


	3. Worry, Worry, Worry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little drama xx  
> also, needless nick valentine head canon slipped out.

  
Hancock didn't understand the appeal of the Starlight Drive-In, but he would have liked to. When Nick Valentine had first brought it up in conversation, he could have sworn that Nora was seven years old again on Christmas morning. She brought her fingers to her face and shimmied her feet on the pavement before declaring that they had to check it out _that exact instant._ As the two of them led, Hancock begrudgingly followed. At the time, he knew this place wasn't much – or at least knew it wasn't what it used to be. There was a sink pit and mole-rats and who ever had it last was heavy handed with fragmentation mines. The trek out there didn't seem worth the epiphany that Nora might end up feeling. The _yes, I am out of my own time, everything I know is dead_ feeling.

It somehow never came.

“So what's the plan, boys?” Her voice echoed over the lot, pocketing the 10mm pistol as she turned back to the two of them. She pulled her hair into a bun as she spoke through a mile long smile. “Think there's a working projector up there? Probably some film too? There's gotta be at least one flick with Gene Kelly in it to get those feet moving. Can you imagine if it's Singin' In the Rain? Moses supposes his toes's are...” Nick laughed along, nodding with the same smile as they two walked towards the concession area. Hancock smiled and watched. He tucked a cigarette between his lips and took up the position to stand guard. It was rare he got to see the two of them _happy_.

Each week, the two of the would steal away to the Starlight Drive-In. They'd be gone for a few hours at a time, leaving with cold-cut plans for the progress of it's renovation and returning with dialects and phrases in voices Hancock couldn't recognize. He didn't understand why some one would _go with the wind_ , or why _frankly no one gave a damn about Scarlett._ He could always heard them on their way back. Their other worldly language and their laughter rang from over the bridge. But today was different. He understood the words all too well when they cried out from over the bridge. It was only in Nick's voice.

“A little help here!” Nick paused to breath. He was dragging something on the asphalt path back with him. “I said help, now! Bloodpacks, pronto! Get Curie!”

Abruptly, everything stopped. John Hancock rose to his feet, dropped his book and couldn't breath. _Nora._

Within an instant, Sanctuary had become a scene in motion. Voices and bodies, cursing and gasping. He, just like every one else, began to run. Each house produced a different member of the town. Each member kick-started themselves into action. He could hear Piper's voice over the throng as he approached, challenged only by Cait's brogue and Nick's serious tone.

“Ah, c'mon Blue. Nick – is she? Blue, listen we're gonna...”

“She's out cold, kid.”

“Shite. All right, give 'er 'ere. I said, give 'er 'ere. Let's get 'er ta Curie.”

 _Fuck._ And there they were. Hancock watched as Nick adjusted Nora's body against his side. She was limp and the arm that slung over Nicks shoulder was the only thing that kept her up. _Fuck_ . He hurried towards them, his jaw falling open out of disbelief. _No_. There was blood. God damn it, there was a lot of blood. It was dark and thick and it found it's way from beneath her jacket to her combat boots. “Sunshine,” he whimpered as the gray coloring of her face left him unable to breath. Her head lolled forwards then back, exposing a charcoal and crimson colored neck. She murmured something as he felt her pulse, unable to understand over the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. This was it, Hancock reasoned. This was what he got for sticking around. All good things came to an end. “It's all right, you're all right.”

“Jackass Super Mutant Suicider...” Nick began, addressing the group and gesturing towards Cait to help. “She took him out about ten yards too late. Detonated after the headshot. Blew the car she was using for cover to bits. Not sure how she walked out, but...” He paused as Cait came over, allowing the Irish woman to scoop Nora from his grasp to carry her. Winded, he raised a hand to his brow and tried to catch his breath. “Blood. She's lost a lot of blood.”

A silence fell between Nick and Hancock as they took her – Piper ordering settlers out of their way as Cait brought Nora to Curie. He couldn't bring himself to follow. The smell of copper and fire that still lingered had paralyzed him. What was the point in chasing? He chewed at the inside of his lip and tried to breath. Her blood was every where. Even on his hands, wasn't it? He shouldn't have made her feel this comfortable. She wasn't from this time. He had broken the cardinal rule of the Commonwealth by letting her think things weren't half bad. He glanced at Nick for some insight, but found none. The detective's coat was covered in her blood. _Fuck._ Hancock didn't notice that Nick had taken a seat on the ground beside him, slowly stripping off the coat to toss it aside. It wasn't until Nora was out of site that Hancock had reached into his jacket for his cigarettes.

“You all right, circuit-board?” He began, pacing for a moment, then taking a seat next to the synth. Lighting two smokes, he placed one between his lips and offered the other to Nick. His hands couldn't stop shaking. “Hell of a day, huh?”

Nick hummed and nodded, taking the cigarette between two metal fingers. His eyes, like Hancock's, were cast into the town at the house that they had taken Nora to. Neither of them spoke. They took deep drags of their cigarettes and tried to release steady breaths of smoke into the evening air. The town continued to hustle amongst itself – it's settlers returning to their routines with the added layer of hushed whispers and worry.

“So...” Nick broke the silence first, putting out the butt of his cigarette against the stained pavement. His features hadn't changed and there wasn't an ounce of skepticism in his demeanor, “Are we gonna talk about it?”

Hancock scowled. He rubbed at his brow and let out a long groan, smoke billowing from between his lips. After thirty years, he knew not to play dumb with the detective. It wasn't beyond the Institute to create a synth with some kind of psychic abilities. “No,” he replied, his dark eyes still not leaving the house, “But I'm sure _you_ will anyway.”

Nick let out a laugh, the cogs in his neck softly whirring together to create the gesture. He shook his head at the ghoul, “You got that right.” The synth paused, considering his words carefully before he spoke with a smile. “It's a rare thing to find a person who genuinely cares about human beings. Hell, it's even harder to find a person who genuinely cares about _things_ like us...” His yellow eyes moved from Hancock, to the house, then back again. “I won't talk about how you haven't reached for that goodie bag of bad habits since we came back...but what I will say is this: If you've got some one who's willing to see the world for what it is and to see you for who _you_ are, I don't suggest running away this time, McDonough.”

“I...” Hancock started, then stopped. If there were words to say, he couldn't reach them. Putting out the cigarette between his fingers with a few short jabs at the ground, he stood next to Nick. He rubbed his jaw in uncertainty, fixed his tri-corn hat and muttered a low, “Fuck.” With out a reply, he turned towards the house and made his way to what mattered. Nora. He loved her. He knew it. There was no use hiding behind Nick until the feeling passed. Now was not the time to pretend. Now was the time to stand up and be there.

 


	4. Way Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feedback encouraged, guys! leave it on here, or reach me at vita-severn.tumblr.com

  
Nora had never been run over by a truck before. How ever, upon waking up she assumed this was a close runner-up. Everything hurt. Sharp. Stabbing. Pulsing. Each piece of her seemed to attack – digging into her demanding to be felt. She inhaled. She exhaled. _Shit._ Everything smelled like smoke and plastic. Her chest felt bound and constricted. Deep breathing brought bright, white pain. Her stomach ripped itself in two. _Nick._ Her mouth opened, then closed to clench her teeth. She tried words, but it was uncultivated noise: weak breathing with different pitches that ran her head empty. She tried to shift her body – to get away. Her muscles seized and stabbed at her to deliver another round of short, shallow breaths. “F...F-Fuck,” she finally spat, feeling tears form in her eyes. They tasted like sweat as they rolled down her face, unable to hide them as they reached her lips, “F-fuck. I can't...”

Immediately, a hand came from out of the darkness. It pressed gently against her cheek and slowly traced her features. She deeply breathed, hearing her lungs rattle over some other sound. Words? It spoke as its fingers ran the length of her jaw. She couldn't translate, but she understood. The tone of voice was gruff, but soft. Authentic. Comforting. Nora could feel the muscles in her body relax as the sound resonating with her. It had moved to her neck to check her pulse, then dug into her damp hair. “--got this...” She thought it said as it ran through her locks, “Sunshine, I promise you got this.”

* * *

 

“And tell her, you tell her that so help me, if she get's into another fight, she's grounded, Nick. _Grounded_.” It was Piper's voice that woke Nora the second time. Even through two rooms and sheet-rock, her Boston accent cut like a knife. It must have been another night where Nick was heading back to Diamond City to check in with Ellie and their case files. Piper's footsteps rumbled on the wood floor, pursuing the Detective as she continued while he left the door. “Like _real_ grounded too! I'll even put it in the paper! Headline: YOUNGER WRIGHT HAS NO RIGHTS, Little Brat-Nat Learns Her Lesson!”

Nora groaned, stirring on the make-shift mattress. Her own bed down at the Rock was a luxury compared to this and she regretted cutting corners on their settlement now that she was here. Every thing ached. None of her limbs wanted to move. A long, exhausted sigh escaped her as she brought her bandaged hands to her face in shame. _How long had she been out, anyway?_

“Y'know, Sleeping Beauty. If all you wanted was a kiss, you just had to ask...color me impressed by your commitment to the part though...”

She opened her eyes to flash of dying lighter. It sputtered once or twice, then revealed a cigarette and a pair of large, silver sunglasses in the dark. A laugh escaped her, regardless of the protest her ribcage gave. She knew what man was attached to the cherry-bud of that lit smoke. “Deacon...” her voice was hoarse as she began, trying her best to sit up. Slowly, she moved to the back of the mattress, placing her back against the frame. “Have you started watching me in my sleep now as well?”

She heard his laugh. It was short and filled with worry. It explained why he was smoking. He only smoked when he was anxious. “Only when there's nothing good on TV, I swear.” He opened what sounded like a pack and began to rummage around. With a sharp click, the pale blue light of her Pip-Boy illuminated the room. _Piper's_ room, technically. There were inked pages and empty blood packs strewn across the floor. Deacon sat beside her bed, lounging in Piper's desk chair with his feet on the frame of the bed. “Yknow,” he began, running a hand over his bald head nervously before digging out a water bottle from his pack to offer it to her, “You might want to reconsider Picasso's work. I know we had this conversation when we were over at Pickman's Gallery but, uh, you're starting to kind of _look_ like a fan. If you catch my drift.”

“Well, fuck...” Nora muttered, accepting the drink from him with a shaky hand. She opened the cap and brought it to her lips for a long draw, wincing from the pain of her swollen jaw. It was nothing compared to before. Everything still hurt, but it was some how better. It wasn't sharp, it was a dull and muffled...like a war propaganda video on mute. She briefly wonder what they put her on to feel this way, before finishing off the bottle. Her ribs still stabbed into her as she took a deep breath. “Just kill me.”

“Not a chance,” he replied, the cigarette between his lips bobbing with each word, “You still laugh at _some_ of my jokes. That only makes four of you, now that Glory is...” His voice trailed off, dipping into a dark place if only for a moment before he caught himself, “I can't lose twenty-five percent of my fan base because you're depressed. And besides, Hancock would never forgive me.”

Hancock.

Her heart skipped, but Nora didn't respond. It was Deacon's job to bait things like this. It was also his job to notice how she always touched her hair when he came around or the way she bit the inside of her lip at the mention of his name. Instead she focused on the ceiling. _This house used to be the Cook's before the bombs dropped. They had bragged about this exact stippled pop-corn installation a month before...well._

Deacon's eyes followed her own, but he continued on topic. She never knew how to act natural. It was her tell and this was his in. “I hear from _Finn_ it's best if I stay on his good side. That ghouls got better connection's than we do at the Railroad. I don't know how he got his hands on some Hydra for you, but I haven't seen that stuff since I was back in the Mojave Wasteland. I don't know why I came back actually, I was doing fairly well as a traveling rolling-pin salesman. Huge market out there. You'd be surprised.”

 _Hydra._ She made a mental note of it before looking back to Deacon with a raised brow. _Rolling-pin salesman._ He wasn't even trying any more, was he? Her eyes followed him as he nodded, the smoke seeping from his lips with a smile. She smiled as well. Even after spending months with him, Nora knew nothing about him. After a year, she knew nothing about this wasteland. The pain that pulsed through each limb was a reminder of that. Her smile disappeared

Nora knew she had made a mistake assuming that she could find her place here. Thinking that she had the ability to renovate a drive-in was childish. Involving others? Selfish. One day, she'd have to wake up and realize that it wasn't worth trying to restore this world. It had evolved into something new – something that wasn't meant for her. They sat in silence and she brought her hands to her sides, inspecting the tattered white t-shirt she wore (that had to be his own). _Wastelander camouflage_ , she remembered. There was no such things as v-necks anymore.

“Deacon...” she started lowly, tilting her head towards him with out looking away from herself. “I need a favor.”

“For you? Anything.”

“I need you to get me out of here.”

He nodded, giving a soft laugh. “My specialty.”

Within twenty minutes, Nora had found her feet on the wooden bridge leading out of Sanctuary. Fresh air, she assured herself, would fix this. She cocked the barrel of the silenced pistol Deacon had loaned and set off to the Red Rocket truck stop to gather supplies. Sure, she knew it was rude to leave...especially when the town had gone through so much to fix her. But that town wasn't home anymore. Not to her, anyway. Not for over two decades. She wasn't doing any one any good on that mattress. They'd understand. They had to.

The Rock, as she called the truck stop, was an offense to the serenity of the night sky. It was large and bright and always hummed the artificial tune of over-powered neon-lights. As an attempt to settle into the Commonwealth, she had begun to call it home. Nora stashed everything here – weapons, armor, ammo, mods...twenty Giddy-Up Buttercup toys that she always forgot to scrap for parts. The tinny sound of her broken radio playing Ray Smith greeted her as she stepped into the garage and dropped her pack. She unplugged it and got to work, searching a drawer of the workbench for .45 ammo.

“Rude,” a low, raspy tone chided from the office doorway, “I was listening to that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got a little carried away xx  
> i blame deacon  
> next chapter, it picks up.


	5. Maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, guys! I really thought this would be out sooner. I had some unfortunate circumstances come my way. To every one that waited, just know I'm all ready half way done with the next chapter xx

As Nora heard him, she froze. She was six steps from the door and with a quick enough pace, she reasoned she could avoid this all together. She could disappear into the night and never have to own up to this poorly hatched plan at all. No blame, no guilt. No more pain. She chewed the inside of her lip and weighed out her options. The back of her neck prickled as she felt his eyes on her body. That gravelly voice of Hancock's had inspired her muscles to develop a plan of their own.

“I saw you as more of a jazzy Nat King Cole kinda ghoul,” she muttered, letting the .45 ammo in her grasp slip between her fingers and back into the metal chest. It rattled as it fell, much like the breath in her lungs. She gathered her best attempt at a laugh and turned to face him. Immediately, Nora caught his eyes with a soft smile – she couldn't place his expression, but she knew he wasn't upset to see her. “Seems you're still full of surprises, huh?” 

Propped against the door frame, the ghoul grinned and responded with a tired laugh. “Always.” He shrugged before he brought a hand to the back of his neck, then to the top of his head. His signature tri-corn hat was missing, along with tattered red coat and blue vest. Hancock stepped away from the door frame as he continued, his boots dragging against the cement with each slow step. “Same could be said for you there, sister. Surprised you're on the move so soon after...” He paused, lifting a hand to gesture at her disfigured silhouette. “Well, everything. I thought it was just us ghouls that had the gift of immortality. I'm starting to wonder what the hell you're made of.”

Nora grinned, “Spite, mainly. Maybe some lipstick and a bit of whiskey, too.” She realized that her eyes lingered a little too long on him as she spoke. A generous amount of his chest was shown through his dirty white button down. She wondered if it felt the same as his face – if all of him felt that way. The color in her cheeks rose and she pressed her back against the work bench. After all of the time they had been traveling together, it was no secret that people were a fan of what ever he kept beneath that frock of his. Men and women from all around the Commonwealth had put in their positive reviews. She assured herself it was reasonable to want to know more. 

“What's with that guilty look there, Sunshine?” He crossed his arms as he stood before her, raising his brow. His attention moved from her pink cheeks to the bench, tallying the fistful of ammo boxes and . “You ain't thinkin' of skippin' town, are ya?”

Every part of her body shifted. Nora suddenly wished this confrontation had happened when she had some form of armor on. Averting her eyes wasn't enough to sheild her from the developing regret. “It...wasn't exactly that? I mean, impulses...y'know? I just...” She was drowning. She knew it. “It was just a thought...”

“Not a good one,” Hancock stated. His voice had lost it's nonchalant tone. He had never cared about anyone else to find out what this felt like on the opposite end. It wasn't right. The shape of her jawline was still too fresh on his fingertips for him to lose her completely. He took a moment before he spoke again, collecting his thoughts and finding a way to navigate the quiver in his throat. Beginning with a soft laugh, he touched the back of his neck. “Who am I to preach, right? How 'bout this...” Her eyes opened and he gave a grin, “I buy you a drink – compliments of the house – and we talk it out. You tell me what you're running to or from and why you can't find it here and if you still think it's a good idea...well I'll help you pack.”

It was with Nora's smile that they agreed upon those terms. Hancock, though still hurt, was relieved. It was one thing to have her taken from him, but it would be something else to see her leave on her own. He couldn't lose her. Not just yet.

 

They were only two hours in before Hancock had to retreive another bottle. Nora watched as he took a long pull of his cigarette and lumbered off of the couch. “Now we ain't done yet...” he began, the smoke between his lips bobbing up and down as he spoke each word. Stepping towards the door, he flashed a grin over his shoulder in warning, “Don't you move, y'hear me?” 

“We'll see,” she stated coyly, raising a brow and watching him move into the doorway. His broad shoulders moved up and down in a soft shrug before he disappeared into the next room. Nora smiled and sank into the corner of the sofa. This wasn't what she had expected from the night. There should have been some long drawn out speech about running away and how it was only running from herself. Maybe a dramatic goodbye. A long, overdue passionate embrace where she could finally stop wondering what the landscape of his body felt like against her own. Instead, she drew her auburn hair over her shoulder and brought her fingers to her face. It was numb, but she was smiling. She was high on god knows what and the only thing passing through her mind was the sound of Hancock's low, gravelled laugh. 

On cue, his voice echoed from the other room. “Y'know, Sunshine. You're lucky I'm a benevolent ruler.” The clinking of glasses and the opening of cabinets provided background for his words. “That kind of insubordination could lead to trouble in my part of town.”

“Your part of town is trouble,” Nora reminded him, confidently speaking through the developing heat in her cheeks. That was right. His part of town. It was beyond her to see him as the man that so many people feared. Between all of their inside jokes and casual banter, it always slipped her mind that he was a man of power. As he appeared in the doorway, she some how felt priviledged to see him like this: all smiles and sporting an open bottle of whiskey.

Hancock joined her on the sofa, softly laughing as smoke lazily fell from between his lips. “No,” he began matter-of-factly, leaning to place the bottle of whiskey between them on the coffee-table. He put out the butt of his cigarette then settled back into the opposite corner of the small love-seat, “You are trouble.” His eyes followed the smile that tore across her features, causing him to do the same. This was flirting, wasn't it? It had to have been three in the morning and neither of them were sober. Even in the darkness, he could see how flush her cheeks were. It drove him crazy.

She stared as he made himself comfortable, his limbs unfurling and stretching out over the tattered couch. His shirt parted against his chest again and Nora bit the inside of her bottom lip. He always seemed confident, even in these tender moments. She reasoned she should be too. Shifting her back to rest against the arm of the couch, she brought each leg to drape over his thighs. “Hypothetically speaking,” Nora began, allowing her head to rest on the back of the sofa, looking at the ghoul through heavy eyelids, “If I were. What would be the punishment?”

He could feel his heart stop. Hancock was well acquainted with that tone of voice in men and women. He had never heard it from her before. “Death, probably,” he responded, his words navigating the lump that developed in his throat, “Which'd be a damn shame. Lettin' a woman like you go to waste...” His hand rested on her knee, tracing the length of her thigh then back again with his palm. 

She bit the skin at her bottom lip. Sparks. Her eyes followed his hand. The friction it created as it ran the length of her jeans must have left burn-marks on her skin – she was sure of it. He wasn't the first person Nora had been with since losing Nate. In fact, there had been a few. But this? This was different. This was insatiable.

This had to have been the whiskey. 

“I wouldn't go to waste,” she began, trying to give a harmless laugh but seeming far away. Her mind was still tracking his scarred digits, resisting the urge to invite them to other places. “I'd go to hell.”

“And, I'd meet you there, sister...” 

With that, both of them smiled and agreed. The reached for invisible glasses, clinking imaginary drinks and genuinely laughing. She closed her eyes and threw her head back in bliss. Maybe it was time to take a chance. He grabbed her hand and brought the back of it to his scarred lips for a soft, lingering kiss. He might not have been a scientist, but he knew chemistry when he saw it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is super duper encouraged, yo! Also, spam me with headcanons. I love 'em.  
> Reach out to me on tumblr: vita-severn.tumblr.com


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